


Moonfall

by Sahvot



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Gen, Inktober 2019, Not Canon Compliant, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 09:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20889563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sahvot/pseuds/Sahvot
Summary: She was going to die, she was certain of it.She was set to be executed on the seventh night, when a full moon was overhead. It was not the command to keep her alive that shocked her, not in the slightest. It was who the order had come from that sent her heart into her stomach.





	Moonfall

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, short drabble here. Had this stowed away, decided to finish it for Inktober. This follows old lore (pre-Aurelion Sol). Torture tag is nothing gruesome, just there to be safe. 
> 
> Formatting may be slightly off but will be fixed soon. 
> 
> If you love it, great. If not, also great. Let me know why if you want. 
> 
> Have a spooky Inktober.

She was going to die, she was certain of it.

Six days and five nights had passed, or at least she thought; her eyes had been blindfolded, but she could vaguely detect the changing of light through the thick cloth. Occasionally a rogue breeze would make its way through the singular opening in the chapel’s ceiling above her and brush across her bare back. The stagnant heat of the day stung against the still-healing wounds across her upper back, and the late-night air was a soothing remedy to it.

Her arms and shoulders, her legs and ankles ached immensely, having been bound with equal parts rope and chains in the same position since the night she was put here. Any small movement against her bonds made them bite into her flesh.

_ “Tighter,” _ one of them had said, _ “Heads will roll if the Heretic gets away this time.” _

She had been situated so that her face was towards the wall; her wrists were shackled above her, and were only slack enough to slightly reposition herself, but not to completely turn.

Her mouth was dry and her stomach clenched so tightly she swore she could feel each organ within her abdomen. She had been fed some sort of bread once each day, and given water every other; this was a small privilege, one she may not have gotten had it not been decided to keep her alive just a bit longer. 

She was set to be executed on the seventh night, when a full moon was overhead. She overheard this on the second day after a Solari was forcibly pulled from her. The order to keep her alive was not a surprise. For hours they attempted to learn the location of the remaining temple, but she spoke not a word other than scathing remarks.

_ “How many times have you tried to break me?” _ she rasped. _ “I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you bastards; I refuse to fuel your tyranny.” _

Another crack of the whip, another stinging mark and another hoarse cry.

_ “Anyone can be broken; first you break the body, then the mind and spirit.” _

It was not the command to keep her alive that shocked her, not in the slightest. It was _ who _ the order had come from that sent her heart into her stomach. 

_ “Enough! Enough, you fool, before you kill her!” _ The man was pulled, nearly thrown from her; she heard him stumble and fall to the stone floor _ . “The Avatar ordered she be kept alive!” _

_ She would not do that, _ she desperately told herself once the men had left. _ She wouldn't, it isn't her nature _. 

_ She will stop this, _ she safely assured herself .

But slowly over the course of the next three days, her will drained with her strength, and she resigned herself to simply do what they wanted; live.

On the third night they silenced her before they left, supposedly at the request of another Solari; the sounds she made, the hoarse shouts and pleas that echoed off the walls _ unsettled _him and disturbed his sleep. 

No sound escaped her hearing, left alone in the silence for hours on end; by night was the incessant chirping of insects and the howls of both wind and beast. By morning and throughout the day came the birds and, faint as it was, the sound of people. At dusk the door to the chamber opened, and an army of footsteps shuffled across the floor.

Six days and five nights, she was sure now as she thought, quietly recounting the times she had heard the door groan on its hinges.

Now, deep into the sixth night, it had occurred to her that the door had yet to open. Had they forgotten about her, she wondered, or had she mistaken the time, or what day it was? Was it the fifth? Was it the sixth or seventh night? Gods, was any of this even _ real? _ Her mind spiraled into a frenzy with all these thoughts. She struggled against her bonds, trying with the strength left in her body to pry herself from the wall. She writhed, yanked, and pounded her fists against the wall in frustration. The chains, they made an awful sound, but dared not budge, even against her muffled protests.

The door suddenly opened, groaning, creaking, drowning out the clattering of the chains, silencing her with fear altogether. She became as still as she could manage, though her breathing had become labored. She could hear footsteps, but she could not tell how many sets there were over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. It was a quiet sound, not like the shuffling she was used to; the steps were measured, and punctuated by a tiny _ clink _. 

It was quiet, too quiet; when the Solari entered they were always talking, muttering something. There was no voice, no muttering.

Had she really lost track of time? Was it the seventh night; had they been so bold as to only send one Iron Solari to slay her?

All these questions and more burned in her brain. She took a moment to collect herself and drew a deep, shaking breath. As she did this she thought she had picked up the faintest of scents, something beyond the scent of dried blood and sickness, something familiar, almost warm. _ Is that...fire? No, no, not fire...b-burning— _

The footsteps had stopped and she became very still. A long moment passed with nothing, and she nearly fancied the idea that her mind had simply made up the sounds and smell in her hysteria.

This seemed like a fine idea, until a hand pressed itself, disconcertingly so, to the back of her head. 

The action, gentle as it was, sent a jolt through her spine and she writhed. The appendage quickly withdrew, but moments later replaced itself to the side of her head, with the digits spreading across her ear. There was a small pause, an intake of breath, a sigh behind her.

“Look at you,” came a voice just above a whisper, “You look like an animal.” 

The hand slid towards her mouth; the other joined it on the opposite side, taking the cloth from her mouth and very slowly pulling it over her chin and down her throat. Her head twisted at the action, but once her lips were free she drew in a breath and sputtered a cough.

The hands shifted, one replaced itself to the back of her head, the other splayed across the column of her throat. The digits traveled up towards her jaw, gently forcing her head all the way back. This hand remained, keeping her head in this position as the other pulled away her blinds.

The sight that greeted her both surprised and frightened her; looking down at her was a darkened form. A pair of eyes defiantly burned like bright little orbs of fire despite the shadow. 

_ You, _ her mind sputtered. _ Why are you here? _

“Did you come here to kill me?”

“No,” the other replied, “I came here to help you.”


End file.
